


No One Ever Doubts You're Mine

by eyesonfire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Little bit of smut, M/M, Pure fluff really, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesonfire/pseuds/eyesonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wanted to shout their love from the rooftops, Louis wanted to sing it on stage but they couldn’t, not yet and so they contented themselves with clumsy blowjobs in the back and sex whenever they could and the promise that one day, everyone would know.</p>
<p>Or the one where sometimes Harry breaks down over Eleanor, and sometimes he just shows everyone that Louis belongs to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Ever Doubts You're Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first contribution to this fandom. Back when I used to have a life outside of these idiots. Aw, bless. Now look where I am.
> 
> Title from Westlife “Everybody Knows.”

~

~And everyone we know says all the time they wish they had a love like yours and mine~

~

Fame meant a lot of things. It meant they had to deal with fans: usually not a bad thing, definitely not a bad thing, but some of them got so overzealous, so in-your-face that when they just wanted a quiet one out, or in, they couldn’t. They couldn’t go to the shops, or go out, or do anything without being mobbed. Which was initially wonderful, but quickly got tiring. They were rabid mobs, and Lou sometimes imagined them frothing at the mouth and panting. And that time that Liam was spied on changing and then had the notes shoved under his front door really got to everyone. Paranoia was probably too strong a word, but Lou could sense a difference in the way they acted in public, just that little bit more guarded, more wary.

It also meant they had to make sacrifices: to deal with not seeing their families and friends for long amounts of time. That was probably one of the biggest sacrifices the others had to make. Liam, to be separated from his mum and Danielle and his mates back home, really struggled. Management had to pay for his huge phone bills of course, so he used that to the fullest extent humanly possible. It was hard on all of them, but the boys were so close that it almost made up for it. Of course, for the other three, there were some things that the boys couldn’t make up for, leaving them to jack one of in the bathroom hurriedly, while Louis and Harry made sure to rub in their faces the fact that they were the only ones getting laid.

The biggest thing they had to deal with was Management. Lou always spelled it with a capital ‘m’ in his head; like some secret organisation or god that dictated their every movement. It was close enough to the truth. Ever since the very beginning of X Factor, way back then, Management had been fucking with their lives. Simon Cowell was the extent of ‘Management’ back then, but he was bad enough. They had to make subtle changes; of course, he called it ‘advice’, and to be fair, it was probably why they got so far in the competition. Like assigning them specific ‘roles’ to portray in the band.

Liam, the responsible one. The caring one. The baby sitter. No one would ever tell of the temper tantrum Liam had during that week at the bungalow. Someone had made an offhand remark and Liam, childishly for once, had stormed out, yelling about how he didn’t want to be in the band, he made it through to judge’s houses by himself last time, and he could bloody well do it again. To be fair, that was actually the only incident that Louis had ever seen Liam not act as the role portrayed. Everybody’s tempers were running high that first week though, with the adrenaline and then disappointment and then confusion and then elation and worry and those emotions hadn’t really had the chance to settle down before being shoved in a room with four guys you knew next to nothing about with the orders to ‘bond’ and ‘work out their sound’. It really was a blessing they all got on. But Louis knows that Liam tries so hard to actually be what he’s seen as, so much so that everyone tends to forget that Louis’ actually the oldest. Even now, Liam’s still pretty much a kid. They all are really. There were some facets that Liam didn’t fit. So long ago, on the bottom of the stairs at the x factor house, they had dubbed Liam the smart one. Louis sometimes remembered that while reading Liam’s tweets and chuckled to himself.

Then Niall. The baby. The emotional one. The insecure one. While Niall did tend to be the emotional one, Simon had him play it up for the cameras a lot. Of course he was insecure: what teenage lad baring their heart and soul to millions with only a microphone in their hands wouldn’t be? But Niall, bless his heart, was also one of the ones with the filthiest mind. Not in the same league as Louis himself of course, but he was up there. And the things that came out of his mouth – you would never believe he was the blond baby faced lad he was. He had the vocabulary of a hardened sailor. Or maybe a pirate. Though that could just be the Irish in him. So no, Niall wasn’t the sweet angel he was portrayed as either. Any chance to hit the grog and he was in. He used language that would make a truckie blush. And boy was that kid a pervert. Again though, what teenage lad wasn’t? Niall was the most amusing to deliberately mention the fact that Harry and Louis got sex to. He was the most frustrated, and could do nothing about it other than smack Harry round a bit half-heartedly.

Zayn, bless him, was the only one who refused to play up Simon’s roles. Zayn was cast in Simon’s perfect boy band as the player, the heart breaker, the one who slept around. He was meant to create a decent amount of scandal. But he refused, and so he spent most of the time on X Factor as the shy guy that he was: at least until he was comfortable around him. It wasn’t like he didn’t know he was attractive, sure he did, but he didn’t flaunt it in the way Simon would have liked. There was that time when he got in a heap of shit in the media about that girl he invited back to him room on the American Tour. Management was ‘disappointed’- personally, Lou was pretty sure Simon wept tears of happiness. Simon was a firm believer in the old adage ‘any press is good press.’ He was the ‘dark, mysterious’ one, which was a complete front. Zayn was a complete geek, he was Louis’ partner in crime and he was a complete softie.

Louis himself wasn’t asked to change much by Simon. He was, to put it bluntly, comedic relief. Lou wasn’t under any illusions that his voice was in the same league as the others, as much as Harry tried to tell him otherwise, but he was okay with that. He was alright with never having the solos, harmonising and swaying in the background, being the cheeky one. His sass, borne of four sisters and a single mum, along with being the only gay kid in his class, got him in trouble in school, but Simon, mastermind publicist he was, took it and ran with it. Later they would use his ‘sass’ as an excuse to tweet on his account being an asshole. That had really pissed him off. He, of course had to ‘tone down’ his sexuality, according to Simon, but Lou found he really couldn’t. So he got the role of the sassy, flamboyant, trendy funny guy. How people believed he was straight for so long confused the hell out of Louis. He really was obvious, looking back on some of their first video diaries. He may as well have been wearing a neon sign informing everyone that he was as gay as Christmas.

Harry had the worst time of it, poor kid. He was instructed to be the sexy one, the heartbreaker with the panty dropping smile that he wielded completely innocently, playing up the ‘baby of the group’ angle. He struggled with it: they all struggled with their ‘roles’. But they were told it was what they had to do to become famous, so they grit their teeth and got on with it. Fame meant, they quickly realised, that they had to be someone they weren’t. It meant they had to hide: hide themselves; Louis and Harry had to hide their relationship, hide their love. If there was anything Harry Styles hated, hiding himself was it. He hadn’t had a reason to hide anything since he was thirteen and came out to his mother; not once since then. He let it all hang out; literally, as anyone who ever spent a day in his company could tell you. He was open with everything, and that was one thing that Lou fell in love with. Lou could see that it crushed him to be told to hide his sexuality: he’d never had a reason to be ashamed of it, his mother had told him never to be ashamed of it, but if he wanted to get anywhere on X-Factor, and now, later on in their career if they wanted to continue going places, he had to be the straight one, he had to pull the girls to pull the sales.

Of course, none of those fan girls knew that they were right when they said they never had a chance, though not for the obvious reasons. They had never had a chance from day one. A chance meeting in a bathroom at the back of a Script concert and Louis was halfway gone; meeting the same boy at x factor meant Louis fell hard and completely. Harry wasn’t too much after him. Lou, having grown up with four sisters, admitted he was a bit of a romantic. He’ll admit, even now, completely without shame that the night after meeting Harry again at x factor, as he went to bed he informed his mum that he’d met him, met the one. Because he believed in fate, and meeting a boy by chance, twice, both times through their shared love of music and singing obviously meant something. Harry was more of a cynic about love at first sight, but it wasn’t long after their first week at the bungalow that Harry realised he was quickly developing feelings for the older boy. They apparently weren’t so great at hiding their legendary ‘bromance’ –another one that Lou finds really, really hard to comprehend: bromance? Really? – and so one day, Simon and the rest of the suddenly much-expanded Management informed Harry and Louis that Louis was getting a girlfriend. Eleanor was introduced to them, and as much as they wanted to hate her, they couldn’t. She was lovely, if a bit dim, and they couldn’t hold her doing her job against her. But that night, as Louis and Harry made love a sense of uneasy-ness, a sense of foreboding tainted it. They slept worriedly, Harry more so than Louis.

Later, ‘Elounor’ had become something of solidity in the band. They had both become good friends with Eleanor, who was truly apologetic about what her job was, though not so much the pay checks attached. Dynamics in the band had not changed of course, but everyone took in the increasingly tired and drawn faces of Harry and Louis. Liam wondered how long it would take them to crack. Zayn, bless his little cotton softs, constantly told them to ‘screw management’ and post a photo of them kissing on twitter. Or come out on a talk show. Something management could not conceal. Neither Louis nor Harry could have cared less about the damage it could’ve done to their career at that point, but it was the other boys that stopped them. They couldn’t be responsible for ruining their careers: if they went down, One Direction went down. They couldn’t do that to them. And so they struggled, spending every night and every morning together, and making time when they could, and then Louis going off to perform his duty of ‘straight’ and Harry would parade women around, usually older, just to piss of management: they wanted the fan girls to feel as if they had a chance. Out of spite Harry ‘went for’ women that were far too old to be considered fan girls.

Lou’s relationship with Eleanor changed things. Whereas before, they were two ordinary lads who happened to fall in love, now they were full time actors, they were puppets for Management; they were machines to wring out every available cent from teenage girls and their parents. Now, they had responsibilities and fears: they were terrified that they would fuck it all up, that One Direction would be ruined and that the other boys would hate them, never mind how often the other lads had told them their happiness was worth more to them.

Harry dealt with ‘Elounor’ mostly like a champ. He never complained to Louis, though his eyes said it all. When Louis would leave to meet up with her in a conveniently public place with photographers strategically placed, Harry would smile that sad smile with his deep green eyes expressing his resignation and kissed Louis goodbye with an intensity that never failed to curl his toes, just to give him something to smile about during the painfully platonic dates with Eleanor.

He had different reactions to the relationship though. Sometimes the vulnerable eighteen year old showed, his eyes bright with tears he determinedly swallowed against, throat taut and muscles tense. He just looked like a kid these nights, a kid that wanted to be loved as fully and completely and as unashamedly as he wished he could return. A kid that desperately wanted to stop hiding. A kid that never thought he’d be shoved so forcefully back in the closet. A kid that hated the situation he was in and could do nothing about it as it ate him up inside. On these nights, Louis took charge, the sex desperate and needy and full of whispered reassurances I love you and I’m yours and only yours and I love you and when they came together they shuddered from the intensity, the purity of it. It touched them deep in the core, the very essence of themselves, and the orgasm was like the sex: slow and complete and full and everywhere at once, filling up their bodies until they felt they would surely burst. Afterwards he would wipe the tears from Harry’s face, his heart breaking that little bit more as he pulled the younger boy close, vulnerabilities in full view, and whispered his love and his promises and she’s nothing to me and one day we’ll tell them all and one day ill marry you until the boy cried himself to sleep. Lou would sit there, holding the boy close and stroking his hair until his eyes closed despite himself, sleep uneasy and troubled. In the morning, nothing was different, Harry wandered about naked, eating his cereal, grinning with those dimples that never failed to make Lou’s heart stutter, but they would both know that soon, it would all become too much again and Harry would break and Lou would have to build him up again, and each time he cursed Management and cursed Eleanor even though he had nothing against the girl, really, she was lovely, but it was still her at the forefront of this, and cursed the whole damn situation because there was nothing he could do about it and all he wanted to do was make things better and put the genuine light back into Harry’s eyes.

Then there was the times when Harry’s possessive nature showed itself and Louis would be left with bruises from where Harry’s large hands help his hips so hard and his fingers dug in as he almost violently sucked him off in the dark back room of whatever interview they were doing at the time. Louis would be asked about Eleanor and he’d smile and he’d talk about how she was great before deftly changing the subject and he could feel Harry tense beside him and as soon as was politely possible he’d grab him by the shoulder or arm and steer him into the bathroom, roughly dropping to his knees and pulling out Louis’ cock without saying a word and Louis couldn’t do anything except focus on not thrusting into his mouth and entangling his fingers in those curls and fuck, Harry. There was that time, and many times at that when ‘Elounor’ was scheduled to make a public appearance, like at the Olympics; Louis came home and see Harry looking at photos rapidly appearing on social networking sites and standing with his back to the front door of their flat. Louis wasn’t sure if he was crying or not, or whether it would be one more thing they would never discuss, buried deep inside them in that place where they stored all the resentment that they couldn’t voice. Barely a minute later Louis was holding to the edge of the kitchen table as Harry was buried balls deep inside of him, biting his neck and making Louis tell him that ‘I’m yours, only yours’. The times when Harry got jealous and possessive were rough and violent and filthy and Louis loved it, because he loved any chance to affirm to Harry that Lou knew he belonged to him and god, he loved it when Harry took charge and his eyes got so dark there was hardly any green left and his voice got all gravelly and deep and husky and Louis had to grab onto him before he fell and Louis loved being so out of control. And after, when they were sticky and dirty and covered in sweat Harry would rest his forehead against Louis’ and apologise which Louis never failed to stop because, he said, I like knowing I belong to you.

The bruises he wore the next day he wore proudly. He did nothing to hide them, smirking broadly and winking at Harry when the makeup artists fussed and bitched at the obvious love bites on his neck. It never failed to make Harry laugh, the real laugh where he threw back his head and his eyes got bright and his curls flopped everywhere. The laugh that made Louis laugh, the laugh that made Louis proud to have caused. And soon, it became a game. Louis would see how many times he could mention Eleanor, how tense Harry could get, how far he could push before Harry’s jealousy took over and he roughly stood up and announced a bathroom break, which Louis seconded of course. Harry knew what he was doing, and Louis was laughing until he was shoved against a wall and roughly forced open and Harry’s fingers were inside him, slick with saliva and his arms bracing him against the wall then his laughs turned into groans and pathetic needy pants and Harry’s mouth was on his and on his neck and on his chest and Louis would force his hand inside Harry’s jeans and stroke him off, the angle all wrong and the elbows all awkward and the kisses too messy and sloppy and Louis rutting against Harry but it was perfect, always perfect and Harry would come into Louis’ hand as he bit into Louis neck uttering Louis and mine and fuck and I love you and Louis would come in his trousers like a school kid without his cock even being properly touched and he would make that noise deep in the back of his throat that Harry seemed to love that somehow managed to say Harry and I love you and yours, I’m yours. Harrys lips were always swollen and red and his shirt hanging open and untucked and his fly down and he was panting and his curls were mussed up and Louis could swear he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Harry would lean down and drop a kiss on Louis swollen lips and rest his forehead on his and without saying a word they managed to convey everything they needed to and as always, the raw intimacy of having Harry so close, his eyes so expressive and his guard so down struck him in the heart and Louis had to choke back tears because god he’s perfect and he’s mine and I do that to him and Harry blew out a sigh and with one last kiss, they would pull away, half-heartedly trying to re assemble themselves, buttoning shirts and doing up trousers. Harry would drag a hand through his hair and then they’d go back to whatever they were doing, smelling of sex and looking like they’d just done exactly what they had done and it would be completely obvious and the marks up and down Louis neck would require some touch up make up and Harry’s hair needed to be re styled and when they finally got back to the interview, without fail the interviewer’s face would go red and her heart would break and the other boys would either roll their eyes (Liam) or sneakily pat them on the back (Niall) and somehow slip an innuendo in the answer to the next question that would make Liam blush and the interviewer stutter and everyone else laugh (Zayn) and then the day would be over and Management would complain and they would be reamed out and another ‘Elounor’ date organised but neither of them cared because it was so worth it. And the game became more and more common. Louis just couldn’t help it.

“Until they know you’re mine,” Louis told Harry once, sucking a bruise onto Harry’s neck.

It was risky, and potentially threatening their career, but they had to. No one knew, but it seemed everyone knew. It was there in the looks and the sidelong glances, the winks and the blushes and Louis and Harry fucking loved it. Harry wanted to shout their love from the rooftops, Louis wanted to sing it on stage but they couldn’t, not yet and so they contented themselves with clumsy blowjobs in the back and sex whenever they could and the promise that one day, everyone would know. They would be able to shout it from the rooftops and kiss in public but for now, this wasn’t enough but it was something.


End file.
